Encyclopedia of the Undead Page 2

  Striges

  The name Striges came from a Latin word meaning “screech-owl,” and would later come to mean a “witch or evil sorceress.” It was also a term of abuse for an ugly old woman. However, in their original form, the Striges were horrors that sometimes visited humans after dark. They had the faces of ancient women but the bodies of vultures, with large and ungainly breasts that were full of poisonous milk. Their claws dripped filth and were poisonous to the touch. Most interestingly, some traditions said that these creatures subsisted upon blood, whether it was the blood of animals or humans, and this was the reason for visiting humans as they rested. The idea of the blood-drinking night visitor or vampire was already starting to take shape. Not only did the Striges attack sleepers, they also spread plague and disease through the filth on their claws—the spreading of sickness would also become a characteristic of early vampirism and would remain a belief in some Western cultures to this day.

  Incubi/Succubi

  Other horrific night visitors that might also prey on Roman sleepers were the incubi and succubi In some cases, these two were said to be differing aspects of the same demon. But it was generally held that the incubi was male whilst the other, much more prolific and dangerous succubus, was female. The name succubus probably comes from the Latin succubare, meaning “to lie under” and it is possible that the demon was a variant of the Greek Mormo, who was sometimes considered to be both female and sexually voracious. Indeed, it was a sexually voracious appetite that characterised both the incubus and the succubus. Both demons (or various aspects of the one demon) had sexual intercourse with men and women as they slept. The succubus in particular drew the seed from sleeping men, sexually exhausting them, and might have even done so to do them harm. Although initially a terror in ancient Rome, the succubus was to assume greater attention in the early Christian period right through to the Middle Ages, when the demon was thought to plague monks in order to distract them from their holy vows. Monks often experienced erotic dreams and nocturnal emissions, which were credited to the attentions of the succubus during the night. In his Compendium Malificarum, written some time in the 16th century, the Milanese monk and demonologist Francesco Maria Guazzo details succubi in his list of demons that torment the righteous. He states that these dreams are in fact real and the experiences of the monks, in the throes of their eroticism, were due to a completely physical manifestation of the demon whose desire was not only to break their vows of chastity but to do them actual harm. Guazzo was following the categories of demons, which had been established by the Byzantine thinker, Michael Psellus the Younger. It is thought that Psellus was born around 1018 in the city of Nicodema (now Izmit on the Gulf of Astacus) and that, as a child, he had been exposed to both Greek and Roman culture. Although more associated with the Platonist school of thought, Psellus did outline certain categories of demons, one of which was “terrors of the night” which included beings that both extracted semen and drank blood. This would undoubtedly prove the inspiration for Guazzo many centuries later.

  Sumeria

  The notion of the predatory spirit, especially a female spirit, found echoes in other cultures, especially the early Sumerian. Here there was a widespread belief in the demoness Lilith, who had allegedly been the first wife of Adam.

  Lilith

  During the 3rd century B.C. in Sumer, Lilith was known as Lil, the winged storm spirit, or spirit of vengeance. As such, she was greatly feared. This terror seems to have percolated down from ancient Sumeria into the early Hebrew tradition. The Semitic Zohar, or Book of Splendour (part of the Kabbalah and written around the 13th century allegedly using extremely ancient sources), states that she was born out of the k’lifah, “the membrane for the marrow” which in turn had been born out of the Primordial Light. It was the first century Talmudic scholar Jerimia ben Eleazar who linked Lilith with Adam, claiming that when he had been expelled from the Garden of Eden, he got on with the demoness in the wilderness and had “begot many ghosts and demons” who were called liln or lilm. These creatures accompanied Lilith on her nightly travels, just as “The Companions” had accompanied Hecate in ancient Greece, entering houses and attacking those within. Also in the second century, Rabbi Hanina ben Dosa stated: “One may not sleep alone in a house, for whoever sleeps alone in a house is seized by Lilith.” The entity then, was strongly associated with attacks on the lonely and the vulnerable. There was a strong sexual element here as well, as the demon also sought intercourse with whoever it attacked—very much in the style of the succubus. In the morning, victims were found, exhausted and drained—some were even dead—setting the tone for later vampiric entities that absorbed energy, semen, or blood.

  Ancient Slavic

  Further notions of predatory nocturnal creatures were to be found in ancient Slavic beliefs. At night, sleeping men were visited by the rusalka, a water spirit that sometimes mated with humans. Although largely benign, this being was driven by powerful erotic impulses and was an insatiable lover. She physically drained those whom she encountered, sapping their youth and vitality and leaving them as old and withered husks.

  Draugr

  As the centuries passed, these ancient terrors began to merge with perceptions of the angry and volatile dead from other cultures. Viking belief, for instance, maintained the notion of a draugr, a corporeal revenant who wandered about the countryside, performing acts of great violence against former associates or against those whom it encountered. Many of these dead lay within tomb-like barrows which were scattered across the Scandinavian landscape. These resembled houses in which the dead might “live” and from which they would venture forth, during the hours of darkness, to engage in wicked acts. Although many of the tales concerning draugr are thought to have originated in Iceland, they soon became known across the Nordic world and even further afield. There are accounts of them from Britain and France, recounted in both Latin and Anglo-Saxon script. From these coffin mounds, the spectres hurled abuse at passers-by and often pelted them with stones. And they attached themselves to any house that had been erected nearby, terrorising the inhabitants by appearing in front of them as soon as it was dark. The Icelandic Laxdoela Saga, written around the 13th century (although the contents reflect much earlier fragmentary writings), includes the story of one Hrapp, who wandered from his howe (tomb) each night, to create mayhem in the district and even to kill several of his former servants. The Eyrbyggia Saga, written at the monastery of Helgalfel, around the middle of the 14th century, recounts the story of the vicious ghost of Thorolf Halt-foot who, together with a group of Undead companions, terrorized and devastated the country round about his burial chamber. Many of the stories concerning them reflected the earlier tales of the unquiet dead of Greece and Rome. However, a certain Christian element, asserting the superiority of the Church, was now beginning to creep into Western stories of the restless dead.

  For example, around 500 A.D., there is a record of a famous encounter in a haunted house by Bishop Germanus—a place frequented by a spectre who was especially violent. The account of this is given by Constantineus, a near contemporary of Germanus that hints back to the malicious ghosts of ancient Greece and Rome. The Bishop of Auxerre in France, whilst on an important journey with his retinue, was overtaken by darkness and sought shelter in a rather disreputable hovel, which locals said was haunted. As the party settled down for the night, they were suddenly disturbed by a horrific and malevolent apparition that rose up out of the ground in front of them and proceeded to pelt them with stones. The Bishop begged the ghost to desist but it hurled abuse at them and began to pummel them with handfuls of earth. Germanus called on the ghost to stop in the Name of God and, at the mention of the holy name, it ceased its violence and became very humble. It revealed its true form: the spirit of an evil man who had been buried there without the proper rites of the Church. The Bishop asked it to show where its bones were buried and instructed a grave to be dug. The bones were interred; the Bishop said special prayers and the hovel was no longer haunted. In this tale, the Church showed its power over the unquiet dead.

  In fact, subsequent Christian folklore concerning the dead now increasingly emphasised the triumph of the forces of virtue over wandering cadavers. Those who died within the bosom of the Church were especially blessed, even though they were deceased and did not experience the anger or violence which beset those who had passed away unshriven. Much was made of a popular tale recounted by the early Christian writer Evagrius Ponticus (345–399 A.D.). The story concerns a certain holy Anchorite named Thomas who died in a suburb of the city of Antioch. Being destitute and having no possessions, the hermit was buried in a portion of the city’s burying-grounds reserved for beggars and paupers. The following morning, however, it was found that the corpse had clawed its way through the earth and made its way to a mausoleum in the richest part of the cemetery. There it had laid itself down to rest. It was immediately removed and re-interred but the same thing happened on the following morning and it was noted that there were disturbances in several other graves around the area. The people summoned the patriarch Ephriam, who recommended that the body be carried in triumph to the city and placed in a shrine, with a special service to be held in honour of the Anchorite in the local church. Whether this was designed to exalt the hermit and to prevent him from walking about or to keep other cadavers in their graves is unclear. Similar stories exist concerning the lives of other hermits, monks, bishops, and saints. St. Macarius of Egypt, for instance, is said to have raised a man from his grave to testify to the innocence of a monk accused of killing him. The History of the Franks, speculated to be written by a group of monks, states how St. Injurieux, a notable senator of Clermont in Auvergne, rose from his tomb and went to lie with his wife Scholastica in an adjoining grave.

  Celtic

  Ancient stories of the restless dead and of the night terrors that wandered about as soon as darkness settled over the land gradually fused together to create legends of hostile cadavers who left their tombs in order to attack the living. In many of these legends, blood played a significant part. Blood, after all, had been recognized since the time of the Roman physician Galen as one of the central “humours” of the body—the life force without which none could live. It was also a source of heat which warmed the body—fevers, Galen taught, were brought about by a surplus of blood, which is why ancient and some early modern physicians bled their patients or applied leeches to suck the blood from them. After a time in the cold earth of the grave, it was suggested that corpses were in need of the warmth of blood to restore them to a semblance of vitality. Moreover, because their veins and arteries were seemingly withered and shrivelled after death, they needed blood coursing through their dead bodies to restore even a semblance of life. Initially it was perceived that such cadavers might take the blood of animals that they encountered, but later it was thought that they might look towards nearby humans for some form of vile sustenance.

  The Yorkshire churchman and writer, William of Newburgh (1136–98 A.D.), tells of a revenant in Buckinghamshire, England, that created much restlessness amongst a cowherd, despite the attentions of several watchmen. It returned night after night, unsettling the animals in the byre in which they were kept and around a nearby house. Although not stated, the implication was that the revenant was trying to drink the blood of these cattle. It further entered the house where it had once lived and attempted to lie in bed with its former wife whom William describes as “an honourable woman.” The matter was eventually placed in front of the Bishop, whose advisors suggested exhuming the body and cremating it. The Bishop himself, however, was opposed to this—it sounded too much like sacrilege—and instead advised opening the grave and placing a scroll of absolution on the chest of the corpse. This appeared to have the desired effect and the dead man walked no more.

  William goes on to recount similar stories—such as that of the ghost in Berwrick on the Scottish borders, which (with the help of Satan himself, says William) wandered nightly from its tomb, attacking those who slept in the town beyond. At daybreak, the cadaver would return to its tomb to rest before rising to recommence its nocturnal attacks. In addition to the attacks, the wandering corpse spread disease and sickness throughout the entire countryside. In the end, ten sturdy men dug up the body, which was then dismembered and burned. Later, however, a greater part of the population of Berwick was carried off by a great pestilence, which it was assumed, was Satan wreaking revenge on the town for its destruction of his agent.

  William’s tale may have given rise to a later legend that purportedly comes from Annandale, also in southern Scotland, and dates from the early 14th century. In this, the Scottish king, Robert the Bruce (Robert I) visited a local lord and whilst he was there, a wretched man was brought before the lord for poaching. The lord sentenced him to death, but the king, being in a good mood, commuted the sentence and pardoned the poacher. Robert then left the area and the local lord, in violation of the king’s wishes, had the man rearrested and executed. From then on, the region was troubled by the man’s walking corpse. This cadaver not only drank the blood of those whom it savaged but spread a virulent plague in its wake. Churchmen were brought in to lay the body to rest but to no avail. In the end, the matter reached the ears of King Robert, who returned to the area and punished the local lord for his disobedience of his Majesty’s commands. On King Robert’s instructions, the cadaver of the executed man was exhumed from its grave, cut to pieces, and burned. The village was not troubled again. The site where these events occurred was said to have been very close to Berwick and it is possible that one tale may have influenced the other.

  Some variants of the story, however, state that it was the Bruces’ themselves who were the perpetrators of the heinous act and place responsibility fore the hanging of the unfortunate man on Robert I’s father—also named Robert but known as “The Competitor.” This occurrence is said to have taken place in the village of Annan in Dumfries and Galloway, and was carried out in 1138 A.D. against the wishes of a visiting saint—St. Malachy O’More, Bishop of Armagh, in the north of Ireland. When he found out what had happened, the saint cursed the Bruces in anger and the dead man rose from his grave and wandered the countryside, drinking the blood of cattle and spreading plague and disease wherever he went. In the end, he was pinned down by two knights who, intriguingly, drove a javelin through his heart before they burned him. The curse of St. Malachy—“the finger of God”—lingered with the Bruces in the shape of a disease. Robert I’s father suffered from leprosy and spent the last years of his life as a virtual recluse.

  Leanan Shee

  The story may also have had some connection with an ancient Celtic fairy belief. Stories of blood-drinking or energy-sapping fairies (usually female) had existed in both Scotland and Ireland since the earliest times. In Ireland one such being was known as the Leanan Shee (the fairy mistress), a creature with a special affinity for humans. She was drawn to warriors and poets and often magically provided prowess for the former and inspiration for the latter. But her attentions came at a price. As she made love to the warrior or poet whose mistress she inevitably became, she drew both the strength and life from them in the manner of the ancient Roman succubus. In the end, they were little more than an empty husk, which the fairy then discarded in favour of another lover. Although the Leanan Shee did not actually drink blood, there were other Irish fairies that were said to do so. Some were said to dwell in the Magillycuddy Reeks in County Kerry in the very south of Ireland. In a lecture given at Trinity College in Dublin in 1963, the former Archivist of the Irish Folklore Commission (a Government-sponsored body set up to preserve Irish tradition), Sean O’Sullivan, (himself a Kerryman) stated that he’d heard of a castle guarding a mountain pass, high in the Reeks, that was inhabited by blood-drinking fairy creatures. The name of this place was Dun Dreach-fhoula, significantly pronounced Drac-ola, and meaning “the fort of evil blood,” sometimes translated as “the fort of the blood visage.” Unfortunately, O’Sullivan did not make any further reference to the location of the place either in his lectures or books. For instance, it does not appear in his most famous book, Irish Wake Amusements—and he died without ever revealing where it might be. Several academics have tried to locate it but even the most minute examination of the sites of the Barony of Kilkerron in which the Reeks lie reveals nothing. And yet tales of blood drinking and flesh eating persisted in the region well into the 20th century. In the 1930s, a collector for the Irish Folklore Commission, Tim Murphy, detailed a story from the remote mountain parish of Sneem in County Kerry that contained vampiric references. A farmer in the area had married a woman who was said to have fairy connections, who refused to eat any food that was cooked in the house but at night, would rise from her bed and go to the local cemetery where she dug up the bodies, drank the blood, and consumed the flesh. The husband followed her to the churchyard where he confronted her as a vampire. “You would not eat the good meat or drink the good beer at your own table but you would come here at night to eat this foul dinner,” he told her. At this point, Murphy’s story became confusing and mixed with another tale and the fate of this vampire was unclear. However, it was apparently representative of a number of stories from that isolated upland parish and from the region in general.

  Abhartach

  An even older tale, supposedly dating from the 5th or 6th centuries, also comes from Ireland. This is the legend of Abhartach, which comes from what is now County Derry in the north of the country. Abhartach was allegedly an ancient ruler of a small kingdom that bordered upon what is now the town of Garvagh. He was small (possibly deformed) but said to be a mighty magician and a tyrannical monarch. He was hated by his subjects who wished to be rid of him, but were too frightened to kill him themselves because of his alleged magic powers. They brought another chieftain named Cathain from a neighbouring kingdom to do the job for them. Cathain killed the tyrant and buried him standing up as befitted a Celtic chieftain. But the next day, Abhartach was back, demanding a bowl of blood from the wrists of his subjects in order, says the tale, to “sustain his vile corpse.” Cathain came again, killed him, and reburied him, but the next day the dreadful cadaver was back, demanding the same gory tribute. Cathain then consulted with either the druids (Pagan holy men) or an early Christian saint (depending on what version of the story is told) as to why this should be. He was told that Abhartach wasn’t completely dead, nor could he be killed, because of his magic powers. He was one of the marbh bheo (walking dead) who would torment his people unless he was suspended. Cathain could do this by killing him with a sword made of yew wood, burying him upside down, placing thorns around his grace, and a great stone directly on top of him. Cathain did all this, even going so far as to build a leacht or sepulchre over the gravesite. This monument gave the townland outside Garvagh its name—Slaghtaverty (Abhartach’s leacht). Today, the sepulchre is gone, although it is said that one massive capstone remains over the actual burial site. A tree has grown there, too—supposedly from the original thorns, although this growth is much younger. The land around is considered “bad ground” and has changed ownership several times and few locals will approach the place after dark, even today. In the region they still talk about “the man who was buried three times.”